


Opposing Counsel

by raving_liberal



Series: Rambling Wrecks [20]
Category: Rambling Wrecks
Genre: Courtroom Drama, Lawyers, Love at First Sight, Miles Brown All The Things, Nonbinary Character, Older Characters, Other, Pansexual Character, Unconventional Families
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 23:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13961913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/pseuds/raving_liberal
Summary: In August of 2039, the unthinkable happens: Miles Brown falls in (the possibility of) love.





	Opposing Counsel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [david_of_oz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/david_of_oz/gifts).



> Edited by the Right Honorable Lord David of Oz, to whom I also gift this work. <3

**August 2039: Atlanta, Georgia — Miles**

Miles Brown, in his 40s, is not easily bowled over, but the first time he faces Dez Richardson as opposing counsel, he is fully and properly bowled over. He commits Dez’s opening statement to memory as he hears it, not even relying on the court reporter for a transcript, and he goes over it and over it in his head for the rest of the evening. Parker and the Moms look at him like he’s got a screw loose maybe, muttering to himself over his dinner, but Miles just can’t get over the sight of Dez Parker in all their furious glory delivering that opening statement in their grey suit with the cream colored pocket square.

The pocket square, really, might be the thing Miles obsesses over the most. How did Dez get it so perfectly folded? How did they get it to keep its shape through a humid August Georgia day? His mind returns to that meticulously folded triangle of cream silk with the sort of fixation he hasn’t experienced since high school. Ninety degrees out, 85% humidity, and that goddamn silk pocket square just as crisp and pristine as it would be on an icy cold Ohio morning. 

On day two of _Lévesque v. State of Georgia_ , Dez Richardson has on a pale blue bowtie, and as Dez cross-examines Miles’ witness, it bobs a little with the motion of Dez’s throat. They have on a coordinating—but not perfectly matching, because that would be tacky—pocket square in a silvery-grey brocade with ice-blue dots. Miles Brown, firmly ensconced in his mid-40s, thinks he might swoon like a 14-year-old that just touched his first boob under the shirt, but over the bra. He thinks, wildly and irrationally, that he might have to tell SPLC that he can’t continue with the case on account of opposing counsel being too goddamn distracting for Miles to concentrate. He suspects that wouldn’t go over so well, but if he can’t get his head straightened out, he might be forced to take that sort of drastic measure. 

Miles starts day three of the trial with a bit more steel in his spine, because Dez Richardson doesn’t have on a pocket square that day. Their suit doesn’t have a pocket at all, in fact, just a sleek front with something akin to princess seams and a narrow lapel with a thin black edging around it. Miles is at his best that day, and he slowly and gently brings Junior Herivaux to tears on the stand. Miles Brown has many skills, but reading a jury is high on that list, and what he sees in the faces of the jury is empathy and outrage over the employment conditions that Herivaux and the plaintiff have faced as Haitian immigrants working for Georgia’s Department of Transportation. 

When Miles sits down again, he can’t help himself. He looks over at Dez Richardson, whose hands are folded neatly on the table in front of them, nails short and subtly manicured, and watches a little muscle jump in Dez’s jaw. Miles heart jumps right after it, and thanks be to god, etcetera, etcetera, court’s adjourning for the day, because he knows the way teeth have to clench to make that muscle jump. That little twitch of a jaw means Miles _got to Dez_ , which means Dez thinks Miles is _winning_ , which is great, professionally speaking. Personally speaking, Miles thinks he might throw himself onto a sword in despair if Dez wears another pocket square on the fourth day of the trial _and_ does the little jaw-twitch of “I hate that guy” in Miles’ direction.

“Dad,” Parker says to him over dinner, which is a perfectly lovely roast stuffed full of about thirty cloves of garlic, not that Miles can taste anything but tomorrow’s potential impending despair. “Your behavior is _not_ normal. What is wrong with you?”

The Moms look at each other knowingly, in that way they have, the way that longterm couples look at each other about a person they know very well and think they’ve figured out. And, Miles has to admit, in this case, they have definitely figured him out. J-Moms—Jo—especially has had his number since his first day at SPLC’s Atlanta office. Kari—K-Moms—has a way of gently needling information out of him through seemingly non-judgmental eyebrow quirks. 

“It’s just this case,” Miles says, lying through his pretty white teeth. It’s not the case. It’s the attorney.

“I thought you weren’t too worried about this one,” Parker says. 

Miles does his very best to look affronted. “I worry equally about all my cases, because they’re all equally important.”

“That’s a sack of lies and you know it,” Parker says, with his mouth full of food, which makes K-Moms say, “Hey! Manners.” 

“Parker does have a point, though, Miles,” J-Moms says, giving him her specific version of the knowing look. “I’ve known you for almost twenty years now, and I know exactly how _not_ worried you usually are. What about this case in particular has got you on the upside down?” 

Miles holds up both his hands like she’s caught him, because if he knows anything, it’s that there’s no use in trying to argue with Jo. She can talk him into anything, and Parker’s a good sixteen years of living proof of that one. Miles hadn’t planned to end up here—in his 40s, sitting at a table with his son and his son’s two mothers, eating a deliciously garlicky pot roast and mooning over opposing counsel—yet here he sits. 

“Fine. It’s opposing counsel,” Miles says.

“Good?” Kari asks, raising one eyebrow. Parker watches Miles with interest, and Jo watches him with a look of mild amusement.

“Naw,” Miles says. “Worse.”

“Very good?” Parker asks. 

Miles shakes his head. “Even worse.”

“Hot?” Jo asks.

Miles sighs loudly in defeat. “ _So_ hot.”

“Ouch,” Jo says. “That’s rough.”

Parker’s brow wrinkles up. “Why don’t you just ask… her? Him?”

“Them,” Miles says.

“Why don’t you just ask them for their number after the trial’s over?” Parker asks. 

“Oh, if only it were that simple,” Miles laments.

“And it’s not, because why exactly?” Parker asks. “I mean, come on, Dad. Since when have you got a problem asking somebody out? You date more than me!’

“Not from lack of trying,” Jo says.

“Moms!” Parker says indignantly.

“She just means you have a lot of extracurricular activities already, and don’t have as much free time as a lot of additional dating would require,” Kari says, in a stunning example of Moms-diplomacy. 

“Anyway, this isn’t about me. It’s about why Dad can’t just ask the opposing counsel out,” Parker says.

“It’s a complex issue,” Miles says. “We’re on the same case, they work for the state and are thus the villain in this story, they _clearly_ have a very different professional ideology than—”

“Well _shit_!” Jo interrupts. “You _like_ them.”

“What?” Miles says, fighting the rising timbre of his voice. “Naw, no, I said they were _hot_.”

Jo shakes her head. “Mmm-mm, you like them. You like them a lot.”

“Like them,” Miles scoffs. “I don’t have a crush on opposing counsel. I’m not sixteen, Jo.”

“Hey!” Parker says.

“It wasn’t an insult, Parker. Eat your vegetables,” Kari says.

“Nope. You do. You like them. You like opposing counsel. You want to run away to Savannah for a romantic four-day weekend with opposing counsel,” Jo says.

Kari decides to get in on the action, too. “Oh, he does, doesn’t he? Miles, I think you want to go on a luxurious Caribbean cruise with opposing counsel.”

“He wants to register at Pottery Barn with opposing counsel,” Jo counters.

“Hey now!” Miles protests.

“Don’t worry, Dad, I’ve got your back,” Parker says.

“Well, thank you, Parker, I appreciate that,” Miles says.

“I do have a question, though, and it’s kind of important,” Parker says. He looks a little too much like K-Moms making her non-judgmental face. 

Miles narrows his eyes. “Alright.”

“When you and opposing counsel have a baby, will Uncle Dave be the baby’s godfather, too?”

“I regret every turn of events that brought you ridiculous people into my life!” Miles says to the table in general. The Moms laugh and Parker just rolls his eyes.

“Oh please,” Parker says. “I’m the most interesting person you ever met.”

“No, that would be me,” Jo says.

“Yeah, but you raised me, so I’ve got your interestingness and Dad’s… whatever it is he has.”

“You know, there was a time when people actually had some respect for me,” Miles says.

“When was that?” Kari asks politely. “Because that’s definitely not the way Alicia tells it.”

“I’m just sitting here, trying to eat my roast in peace,” Miles grumbles. 

“You do that, and K-Moms and I are going to help you figure out how to ask— what’s their name?” Jo asks.

Miles sighs. “Dez. Mx. Dez Richardson, esquire,” he answers, begrudgingly. 

“K-Moms and I are going to help you figure out how to ask Dez on a date,” Jo says.

“God help me,” Miles says.

“Nope,” Jo says. “ _Moms_ help you.”

The next day, it’s back to court and Dez’s powder blue linen suit with the subtlest jacquard pattern woven into it. They’ve styled their hair differently, combed over and up just a bit, showing off a tasteful undercut and the perfect, smooth skin on the back of their neck. Miles nearly does swoon. God or fate or something must be on Miles’ side that day, because the air conditioning cuts out by 10am, which mean that the courtroom is transformed into a convection oven of justice by noon. The judge calls a recess for the rest of the day so the maintenance crew can fix the air. 

Over dinner, Miles catches the Moms looking at him knowingly, and he has to squelch the instinct to ask them if they didn’t sneak into the courthouse themselves and bash the air conditioning unit to smithereens with a softball bat. Shortly after Miles returns to his little detached guest house behinds the Moms’ house, his phone rings with Casey’s tone, yet another unusual turn of events, since Casey usually calls on the weekend.

“Did the Moms call you?” Miles says when he answers the phone. This isn’t rudeness; after all this time, they don’t usually bother with traditional greetings. 

“Why would the Moms call me?” Casey asks. 

“They’re meddling,” Miles says.

“Oh. Hmm. Well.” Casey makes a few more non-committal noises before continuing, “Parker _did_ call David.”

“Let me guess: it wasn’t just about where they’re eating lunch after church?” Miles asks. 

“David says that Parker says you’re in love with somebody.”

Miles huffs an annoyed breath. “Parker doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Gotta actually get to know somebody before you fall in love with ’em.”

“But you do _like_ somebody,” Casey says, sounding pleased.

“Yeah, well,” Miles says. “What’d old Shep have to say about it? Let me guess, some dumb adage about old dogs and new tricks?”

“David said he was staying out of it,” Casey says.

“If y’all’re staying out of it, what’re you calling me for?” Miles asks.

“David and I are not the same person,” Casey says. “We can have different opinions on things.”

Casey can probably hear the sound of Miles’ eyes rolling through the phone. “Yeah, Cherry? Since when.”

“Well, fine,” Casey concedes. “We sometimes, on occasion, are not the same person, and we sometimes, on occasion, have different opinions about things.”

“And this is one of those times?” Miles guesses.

“Yes,” Casey says.

“So what advice have _you_ got for me today?” Miles asks.

“No advice. I’m terrible at love advice. I married the first guy I ever had a crush on,” Casey says.

“Fair enough,” Miles says. “So what’s this call about?”

“I just wanted to tell you I was happy for you and wish you good luck,” Casey says. “Really, Miles. You should be happy. Do something that makes you happy. You deserve it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Miles says. He’s afraid he’s about to lose the battle he’s waging against getting misty eyed.

“Tell me how it goes, okay?” Casey says. 

“If I crash and burn at this, I’m never breathing a single word to a single soul,” Miles says.

“Then tell me when it goes great,” Casey says. “I believe in you.”

“That might mean more if you hadn’t’ve married the first guy you ever had a crush on,” Miles points out.

Casey laughs, “Oh, Miles,” and ends the call. 

Miles does actually feel a little bolstered by the conversation, though. Maybe asking Dez out wouldn’t be the worst thing. Maybe it could even go alright. Hell, it might could even go _great_ , just like Casey said. 

The next day in court, air conditioning blessedly restored, Miles doesn’t swoon and doesn’t get distracted, even when he notices Dez’s tie has tiny grey cats printed all over it and their grey pocket square has been folded so two points poke up like little cat ears. The jury deliberates for only a few hours, and when they come back from the jury room, the jury foreperson announces they’ve found in favor of Mr. Lévesque. Lévesque and his wife hug Miles and Selena, the junior SPLC attorney working on the case, and in the midst of all the hugging and little league–hand-shaking of opposing counsel, Miles finds himself face to face with Dez Richardson.

“You put together a great case,” Dez says as they grab Miles fimly by the hand to shake it. 

Miles manages to not open and close his mouth like a vapid goldfish. “Same to you. Hope to see you across the aisle again someday.”

“Hope your feelings aren’t hurt too badly when I tell you I definitely _don’t_ want that,” Dez says, and both of them laugh a little. Miles realizes Dez still has his hand clasped in theirs right about the time Dez adds, “You think you’d like to get a drink with me tonight?”

“Yeah,” Miles says. “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

“Park Bar? Seven?” Dez suggests, and Miles finds himself nodding a little too vigorously. Dez finally releases his hand.

“Yeah. That sounds great,” Miles says. 

Before either of them have a chance to discuss things any further, both Miles and Dez are swept up in the fervor of clients and journalists and general courtroom bustle. When Miles looks for Dez again, they’re gone. Miles can still feel the imprint of their hand in his, though. No Moms-intervention needed, unless they’ve been getting up to some kind of crazy lesbian witchcraft up in the sewing room after Miles has retired to his guest house for the evening.

Then again, he has a date for drinks with Dez Richardson tonight, so if a little lesbian witchcraft was involved, who is Miles to judge?


End file.
